


Conversation Piece

by aces



Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Conversations, Gen, Philosophy, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-21
Updated: 2008-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-14 21:50:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/153817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aces/pseuds/aces
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm a student of history and current events.  So are you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conversation Piece

**Author's Note:**

> Gift for azdak in the 2008 Down the Chimney affair on the muncle LJ community.

“We are sent around the world,” Illya said contemplatively as he sat back on Napoleon's sofa, still nursing his first whisky of the evening, “to deal with organizations and individuals who threaten to bring down the entire delicate edifice that constitutes civilization on this planet.”

“So we are,” Napoleon agreed, pouring himself a second glass and sitting down in the easy chair, crossing his legs. His partner had dropped by his apartment an hour ago with a demand for drink and dinner, in that order. Napoleon had shrugged and agreed at least to provide the drink. “You think we should do more? Or less?”

“I'm not sure,” Illya confessed, and Napoleon only continued to look at him, not to speak. Illya sighed and closed his eyes. “You'll excuse me if I occasionally find our position in the--global economy--a little ambiguous.”

Napoleon snorted, genteelly. “Who doesn't?” he said. “It's unfashionable to worry so much, unless you're a student activist.”

“Or a revolutionary at heart,” Illya replied dryly.

“No, no,” said his partner. “Then you're especially not allowed to worry. Worrying is for those who take control after the revolution is over.”

“Is the revolution ever truly over?”

“Oh yes,” said Napoleon softly. “As soon as somebody seizes control and returns structure to the system, the revolution is over.”

Illya opened his eyes and glanced at his partner. “I forget sometimes that you are as much, if not more, a cynic as I.”

“It's not cynicism,” Napoleon settled back more comfortably in his chair and sipped appreciatively at his whisky. “It's recognition of pattern. I'm a student of history and current events. So are you.”

“And current events are enough to make anyone a cynic,” Illya replied and stood up restlessly to prowl Napoleon's living room. “History is enough to make anyone a cynic.” He stopped by the small bar and glared at his partner. “Revolutions can be good, you know,” he said.

“Of course. More blood, more rhetoric. Have you ever noticed how few revolutionaries we're sent to help?”

“But we are sent to help some,” Illya pointed out. “Your own country started with a revolution.”

“So has yours,” Napoleon said, studiously avoiding the Russian's gaze. “Restarted, if you like.”

Illya made a face. “Seizing power,” he said with that same sardonic note, and Napoleon raised his glass in salute, still without looking up from his trouser knee. “While I do not always agree with the way the system is handled, communism is a good idea,” he insisted, once again, an old argument between them.

“For a man who insists on spending as much of his time alone as possible,” Napoleon said, “you sure do get a kick out of communalism.”

Illya glared. “For the good of the people,” he said. “For the good of everyone, yes. It's an ultimate form of democracy.”

“You forget,” Napoleon said, “those early Americans really wanted a republic so they could continue to keep the Great Unwashed at bay.”

Illya snorted and resumed his prowling. “We are sent around the world to stop THRUSH,” he continued his original thought, “and other such megalomaniacs in order to ensure global peace. Do you ever think we're missing the point?”

“We have to take the larger view,” Napoleon said, quietly. “Somebody has to look at the bigger picture. If ever there was a man capable of looking at the bigger picture, that man is Mr. Alexander Waverly.” He followed Illya's movements around the room. “If you wanted to get involved in a single revolution, Illya, you would never have joined U.N.C.L.E.”

Illya glanced at the other man and smiled, a rueful half-smile that was his trademark. “I have always enjoyed the macro side of things,” he said. He sat down again and drained his glass, setting it down on the end table next to the couch. “Sometimes it is easy to get caught up in the--individual.”

“So it is,” Napoleon said, and his voice was as sober as ever. “That's why we have supervisors, why we have Mr. Waverly.” He glanced fleetingly at his partner. “Even in a democracy there has to be the leaders. Though, it must be said, U.N.C.L.E. is far from a democracy.”

“Yes, yes,” Illya waved a hand. “We've gone over that before as well. Don't forget, Napoleon, evolution continues; it did not stop just because the process was thought out, quantified, and named.”

“Evolution doesn't necessarily mean humanity will become better as a whole,” Napoleon argued, another old argument between them. “It just means we'll survive our conditions better. Whatever those conditions turn out to be.”

“You depress me,” said Illya.

Napoleon huffed a soft, short laugh and stood up, removing Illya's glass from the end table and taking both glasses to the kitchen. Illya heard the water as Napoleon rinsed the glasses and the clink as he left them there to be properly cleaned later. He came back out to the living room and surveyed his partner, still brooding on the couch.

“Come on,” he said, “let's get dinner. You always get depressed more easily when you're hungry.”

“That,” Illya remarked, “is truly depressing.”

Napoleon smiled down at him in amusement. He had known this man for years, worked with him and almost died with him. There was very little he didn't know about Illya, or Illya about him, and there was very little they hadn't already discussed, fought about, or agreed upon between long, wearying hours in cells, interminable trips on airplanes or in boats, or boring stints in sickbay. Illya had probably been reading the newspaper again. Somehow, that depressed him more than his actual job did.

“Come on,” Napoleon insisted. “I've got a date later, so if you're going to take me up on my offer of a dinner free of charge, you'd better do it quick.”

“Of course, I should have known,” Illya rolled his eyes and stood up. “Who is it with this time? Susan from Translations or Sally from Communications?”

“Sheri from Computations,” Napoleon said smartly and escorted his partner out of his apartment.


End file.
